Switch
by KPtheMoviesaholic
Summary: Fill for LJ Prompt. Based on TSwift's "You Belong With Me." AU. Love complicates itself when Hank McCoy's identical twin brother Tony Stonem decides to date his crush, badboy Alex Summers.
1. Typical Tuesday Night

**Disclaimer: Ah. So you've found yourself at my corner of the Alternate Universe, welcome.**

A bird flew at my window.

A—bird—flew—at—my—window.

_A bird flew at my window?_

Words rushed out of his lips in a quick, soft whisper, a hand clutching the thin notebook paper, another twirling his blue gel pen absentmindedly.

A bird. Flew. At. My. Window.

Even when read in separation, his own sentence twisted in his tongue.

_The fuck. That's the best you can come up with?_

He sighed. The ball of crumbled sheet took its short trajectory path and landed on top of the pile of similarly rough paper balls building in the dust bin under the working desk.

Probably the best when Mr. Popular is around, blasting his stereos in the proximity of his supposedly peaceful sanctuary of a bedroom. He watched the wall separating his (not-so) personal (anymore) space from the obnoxious teenager throbbed to the beats of rap music and his mind.

He's just another one of those senior guys struggling through his last (thank God) year of English class before his liberation to university and science, the subject he longed most to pursue. (English, so to speak, as the subject he was least passionate for, turned out to be the one he had to work hard at. Genius that he was, he lacked the natural flow of words, his inner voice, as his teacher had told him.)

_English Class—Poem. Due Wednesday._

He glanced at his own hasty scribbles on the neon yellow (the troublemaker had insisted on buying him for his birthday) post-it paper pasted on his calendar, sitting on the desk a few inches away from his left hand. Atop the calendar was his all-in-one alarm clock, complete with date, month, and year.

_Tuesday. 11:00 pm._ read the clock.

Hell. So he actually has to get up and put an end to this?

Now, or never.

He pushed himself away from the desk, got up, and walked to the room next to his. He rolled his eyes at the sign, "Stay the fuck out," hanging loosely in front of the door (privacy was a far cry from an option with his twin brother. He wondered where he missed out on the logic of shutting out blood relatives from personal space when (too many times he had lost count, not that he ever wanted to) girls were free to rumple his bedsheets.

(No, he heard everything.)

Ear shattering music beats had crossed the line, so he chose not to bother with knocking. He pushed the door open and called, "Tony! Damn it, shut. Down. The Music. People are trying to—"

His sentence left unfinished, he glanced around the room and noticed he was talking to the air. He bent down to the floor, snatching up a sheet of paper on which unmistakable, messy handwriting screamed at him to read.

_Enjoy the music, bro. I'm out._

_See you later._

_Tony._

He gritted his teeth, the paper transformed into another rumpled ball in his fist. Tony. With Tony Stonem (yes, he adopted their British father's last name, and he his mother's, so what? If only last names were the sole distinction that allowed people to tell them apart.), you never know when 'later,' was. The word could have meant right this second, in the freaking morning, or a day later, whichever suited the suave asshole's fancy (because his twin brother was _that _similar to him).

It's his luck that Tony didn't end up to be his promiscuous twin sister or whatever. He did not wish to to waste his time or energy worrying about his 'other half.'

Hank McCoy turned off the switch of the stereo, internally laughing at Tony's efforts to rile him up (it did, just a bit…there was that time Tony tried it on their mother. She was not amused.) and walked back to his room. He sat himself down on his chair and inserted a Debussy CD into his own stereo, as he leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. _Ah, now this was soothing_, he thought as the tinkles of Clair de Lune filled the room, _at least the music would calm me down_.

Now, where was I?

A bird—

The words after disappeared, forgotten when his ears were alerted to the knocks on the window of the house opposite him. He looked up to meet Alex Summers's irresistible stare.

_What was it tonight?_

A breath caught in his throat.

The blonde smiled at him (great), as he held up a notepad with words scrawled across in blue ink, "You ok?"

That broke him.

The unexpected sincerity written in his lips' curl. Those cute blue eyes. Oh. Didn't he mention they never actually talked in school? But Alex had it all. Varsity football team captain (he scored the winning score last homecoming match), class president, not to mention the dream date of half (this wouldn't be an overstatement) the girls at the school (the other half? Pff. Tony's ticking them off his list one at a time, his present rate being that he went through two a week). Basically a position not remotely close to the King of the Nerds and Geeks Isle, which he suspected he currently held. Their lifestyle paths were parallel lines, and Hank realized he would have had a much easier time sweet-talking himself into forgetting his love for Alex if the badboy wasn't living next door to him. Popularity meant Alex could just overlook him, this insignificant nerdy scientist unconsciously falling into the classic one-sided relationship of doom, and continue with his made-for-yearbooks high school life, but (and he didn't know why or how) the school's king did not abandon his childhood best friend and still communicated with him via notepad most nights (when he wasn't out attending those parties).

And Hank's heart sometimes could not get over itself.

They'd been friends since he could remember and, between them, the word secret had no meaning.

He got out a notepad and scribbled in reply, "Yeah. You not going anywhere tonight?"

Alex shrugged. He turned another page of his notepad and wrote Hank the words, "Not yet."

A rush in his chest. Hank almost grinned, despite himself (_You've got a poem to write, you know_, said his subconscious) and was in the process of writing the 'to' in his, "Want to talk?" when he was alerted to shadowy movements at the opposite window out of a corner of his eye and looked up once more.

Alex wasn't alone.

A tall brunette (who had come into the room seconds ago) was whispering something in his ear. Alex turned around, pretended surprise, and laughed. The tips of their noses brushed before their lips followed suit. The kisses, starting off as light pecks, deepened, bodies melding into one. The blonde detached himself to draw the curtains close, as he winked at Hank, waving a hand to signal his silent "bye."

Alex wasn't alone.

Hank supposed the sharp pain at the bottom of his stomach wouldn't have affected him as much if the brunette was a girl, if he were someone else, someone who did not, other than having a hair color common to his, sport features exactly identical to him and share his blood but acted in no way like him.

He should have prepared himself for this (and _'this'_ wasn't his business anyway!). The rumor mills churned out the news that Alex Summers was dating again, but he least suspected the person closest to him.

Tony Stonem.

**A/N: :D. What do you think? **

**Based on Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me," with a slight twist because it was just demanding that 'this' happens!**

**Will be a short multichapter,**

**and hee hee, Tony 3. I love you, even though you're so...you.**

**Thank you, as always, to my precious readers, reviewers, and anyone who's stopped by and/or clicked on this story. You don't know how much you mean to me,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**PS. I'm getting back to my other fic, _Otherwise Known as Us_, in between writing this. (Major, major writer's block happened before this period. It wasn't pretty.) Be on the lookout for upcoming updates! :)  
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	2. Dreaming

**Disclaimer: in which Skins, X-Men, and Taylor Swift's high school romance stories melted into one...**

He remembered the first time he met Alex Summers.

Temperate summer morning. He had groaned and tossed in his bed, irritated that his mother had drawn the curtains too early for the sunlight to rouse him from sleep. He drowsily pulled himself up from his soft bedsheets and stumbled downstairs towards the kitchen, where Mom was already waiting.

They were alone. Just him and her. He didn't have a father, but he wasn't too stuck on that. She never made it a big deal, and so he never thought it was. They separated when he was too young to understand the meaning of divorce itself. They ended up here, a house Mom had put in half her earnings (and he later found out some years of her working life) for. Their lives went on, normal and mundane, if he were to recall. He was Mommy's good boy, and he didn't feel like he missed anything.

Until there was school. He shook hands gingerly with potential friends the first day Mom took him to the nearby public elementary school. They seemed to warm up to him, those kids his age. In the hallway next to his classroom, he grinned in reply to one Drew Thomas's smile, already anticipating recess time when they could go out and play. Then the teacher walked in. She was a petite, sweet brunette, with a pleasant face and delicate voice. He could picture her in his head now, calling off names and ticking off boxes with her yellow pencil. There were butterflies in his stomach when he raised his hand up to confirm his presence. It was something to be about other kids for the first time. Something to put his name out there.

They started learning. He got through the basics—multiplication tables, simple math problems just fine, and was answering questions almost (because there was that one boy who had an unspoken hand-raising competition going on against him) every time the teacher challenged the class for an answer. Gradually he realized she was focused on him, called him back "to have a little chat," during recess, and began giving him tests, which were basically sheets of papers with problems. He did them without much difficulty, and he was surprised to see shock on her face.

A heaviness sunk in his stomach. She wasn't pleased.

He rubbed his right thumb against his index finger nervously, eyes cast down to the wooden floor of the classroom, avoiding her stare. "Did I do something wrong?"

His voice was cracking, his face heated. His breath caught, and he was sure he was dangerously close to tears.

It was his turn to be shocked. He felt her tender hand touching his cheek (he hated his cheeks then). "No, Hank, no," her tone, coaxing and calm, raised questions in him, "You've done nothing wrong, darling. You are, in fact, a very, very special boy."

He was pretty sure his mouth dropped open on its own accord when he blinked and lifted his eyes up.

Special. No one had ever said that about him before.

After that scene, his childhood passed by at a dizzying speed (he missed his supposedly first slumber party). He was christened "Child prodigy," and enrolled into gifted and accelerated classes. Friends started to desert and shun him, as "genius," the word Mom whispered, her face lit up in delight before she kissed him goodnight, doubled as both an insult and term of abuse. The press made itself his house's primary uninvited guest, and before long, he was sitting exams with "the big ones," middleschoolers twice his size. He found science and math to be fascinating and put his heart, his passion into fueling his studies. He was happy, he was excited to be exposed to so much in so little time, but when he trotted home and put his messenger bag (Mom insisted on getting him one once he stepped into the middle school) on the kitchen counter, he couldn't deny that there was something missing.

He watched boys played across the street, his face plastered to the window, eyes following them with longing.

No one wanted anything to do with him.

He was just a strange, quiet boy who (other than being absurdly intelligent for his age) kept to himself. He lost his connection with his 'friends,' the moment he stepped into the principal's office and his first teacher announced 'the good news.' He was sitting alone at lunch because the middle schoolers narrowed their eyes at him and whispered behind his back, some surely jealous of the 8-year-old marching their halls.

He was different.

He spent his free time in the mini lab that was his bedroom and invented ways to entertain himself.

But it was incomplete.

So he broke down one day and, sobbing, asked Mom that he be back in the class with boys his age. He needed to catch up on the humanities and the arts, he reasoned (because while he could get by in middle school, English wasn't exactly his forte), and… told her about his loneliness.

She took him in her arms and smoothed his hair. It was agreed that he would continue taking middle school science and math courses while attending the elementary school. (By the time Hank was in high school, he was knee-deep in university level sciences.)

Despite the mess of paperwork they had to go through, nothing changed. He did well in his classes, as he expected, but he remained helpless in the friends department.

Then a moving truck pulled up on the lane next to his house that morning. A family stepped out of the car in front of the truck. His heart leaped when he saw a little boy about his age clinging to his mother.

He glanced at Mom for approval.

"Go ahead, say hi to them for me," she nodded, "I'll bake them a welcoming present."

A wave of enthusiasm rushed through him like the first time his experiment actually worked. Hank ran towards the house next door as fast as his feet could take him.

He stopped when he reached the family, trying to steady his breaths. He was huffing now. (not bad, McCoy.) The family was still in front of the house, admiring the surroundings, he guessed, but the little boy noticed him and turned around to offer his hand.

"Hi," he said, "I'm Alex, Alex Summers."

Hank straightened, his hands off his knees, and that was when he first clasped his eyes on the boy.

Alex had a clear, reassuring voice. He sported short, sandy blonde hair, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

He looked at the warm, open smile, and he was pretty sure they could be good friends.

His hand held onto Alex's. "Hi," he replied, suppressing his nervous stutter, "Hank McCoy."

They let go of their hands. Alex looked him up and down, curiosity in his voice. "So you're my new neighbor, then?"

He gave a small laugh. "Yeah, I—I guess I am."

Him being who he was, he knew he could run out of words in the next minute, but it was Alex whose words changed what could have been between them.

"Want to come inside?" he offered, his hand in the direction of his new house, "I've got my Star Trek collection and…"

Hank couldn't stop himself. He burst out, "You watch Star Trek?"

The blonde had a light smirk on his face. (Hank didn't know it then, but it was to become Alex's signature look. With girls, at least.) "Anyone who's cool does. You don't?"

He didn't even know where to begin. "No…are you crazy? I mean, I…" and he followed the boy he had met minutes ago into the house. "I've never met another kid my age who's watching Star Trek."

"You mustn't have been looking."

And just like that. Alex Summers became his one and only best friend (also honorary next door neighbor, which was a titled they later bestowed upon him).

They were close, and though people often questioned why 'the jock,' was best friends with 'the nerd,' Alex never left him. They were different, but they had something in common. Alex thought his intelligence was "cool," and came over some nights to watch marathons of their favorite show together.

Inevitably high school happened, and their friendship was tested on uncharted grounds that extended beyond middle school to unknown boundaries.

It was the drift. The separation. And quite possibly the worst thing that hit him since his genius was discovered.

But he was wrong.

* * *

><p>He didn't want to remember the first time he met Tony Stonem.<p>

The memory stubbornly clung to his mind, reminding him of the ketchup sauce he spilled on his white shirt that refused to be washed. Tony was like that. Once you met him, he would make some sort of impression on you that would be impossible to forget.

Unless, of course, if it were your and his father's funeral. Impossible was far from appropriate to capture the situation. Tony scarred him.

It was raining (but it was Britain. It might have been just raining all the time, as he had heard before), not the violent kind that occurred during thunderstorms, but the annoying, pitter-patter kind that was just right so you wouldn't need an umbrella and you could easily catch a cold.

He stepped out of the airport limo, still jet-lagged, before helping his mother out after him. His black patent leather shoes landed on damp grass in front of the cemetery, a soft groan in his throat.

He had flown half way around the world with his parent to pay final respects to another one, whom he had never seen in his life.

_This had better end fast._

He barely had adjusted to the atmosphere around him at Bristol's cemetery when a young man approached them.

"Excuse me, Miss McCoy and…"

He was about to fill in his name, though he was too busy fumbling with their suitcases. Mom had turned to face the young man, and the voice accompanying her words were in a tone he had never heard before—sentimental and teary, as if she was reunited with a long lost relative.

"_Tony_," she whispered, soft and gentle, as she took his cold hand, "Tony. It's you, isn't it?"

The name. The way she said the word, caressing it, puzzled him. Just who was this boy to get his mother all torn up-?

Oh. _Oh._

He followed Mom's eyes and it dawned on him.

He could have been looking in the mirror.

'Tony,' was wearing a black suit over his white shirt, his brown hair, several shades darker than his, a shaggy cut (made out to be messy bu stylish, he assumed), his face solemn and eyes red-rimmed. He was about as tall as Hank, yet it was his features that caused uneasiness in him.

The shape of the face, his chin, lips, nose…and those eyes…the mesmerizing blue he thought he had only saw in Mom and him…

There was only one insignificant difference—Tony had 20/20 eyesight.

Oh, and he might have been British. The thick accent was unmistakable.

_This couldn't be happening._

"Mom," he caught her arm, his one word demanding a thorough explanation of the young man before them. "Mom, what is_ this_?"

An audible sigh escaped his mother's lips. She took both their hands and initiated an awkward handshake.

"Hank, meet Tony," she said, "Tony, this is Hank. Your twin brother."

The words dropped on him hard. He blinked. "Twin brother, Mom?" he looked at Tony and back at her, "You mean I have a brother whom I never heard of here in England?"

To his surprise, Tony chuckled. "Sorry if this comes across as a bit of a shock. Dad used to tell me about you, I mean, and I used to not believe him. Thought he was just taking a piss. Then you showed up today and—"

"This is crazy," he murmured, as Tony led them to the ceremony.

"This is life, honey," said his mother, tightening her grip on his arm, "We thought this would never happen and we'd be fine, living our separate lives."

"But you never had it in your head to tell me about him?" Incredulity and disbelief was raising his volume against his will.

Tony patted him on the shoulder. He almost flinched. "Calm down, mate, it's just me. Could've been Mum's ex-lover or something, but I'm your twin brother, that's it. Who's going to come live with you."

Live. With.

"_What?_" It was terrible enough that he was having the epiphany of his life amidst the crying and mourning background of a funeral, yet the revelations that continued to pound on him weren't letting him go.

Another light laugh from Tony. Did this guy think every thing was a joke? (Certainly not.) "It's only natural," he said, voice devoid of sarcasm, "Dad died, you know that, and normally I live with him so…"

Mom nodded when he opened his mouth to ask her the truth.

As they say in Britain, _bloody hell._

It was the family reunion to end all reunions (he hoped), not to mention they had an extra person trailing after them at the airport. It was like seeing a doppelganger, moving, walking, talking…

Tony didn't let his life rest on the peaceful note he had been living since then.

At first people had thought Hank had gotten a makeover in Britain, but that was before Tony revealed his true colors. His charisma was bewitching, and girls were falling over themselves trying to go out with him. He quite enjoyed the attention, Hank observed with distaste. Too bad that it wasn't just flirting and seduction he was good at, Tony made it in Hank's honors Literature and History classes. (Now he knew where the missing genes on that side of the family went.) The smartass had mastered lies, manipulation, and perfect sneering.

And Hank had only lived with him for four years. He was in eighth grade when Tony moved in. Senior year was unfolding at the present.

When phones rang, it was never for him. Ditto the doorbells.

Somehow Tony was living the dream Hank couldn't manage—the balance between school and social life, with a few joints smoked in between (Hank found a stash under his bed. Tony didn't deny his claims and simply asked if he wanted some.). Introducing himself in a few words in the video diary for Film Class, Tony had said he had everything he needed right where he was: "friends and a brother to amuse me, girls to fuck me, a parent to feed me."

Bastard.

He adjusted himself living under Tony's shadows just fine because he had university and his research to keep him occupied (as well as late nights' attempts at lame poetry).

He even kept his fragile ties with Alex.

But all of that.

That, which he knew, learned, or remembered, about the two young men in his life whom he never thought paths would cross, was rendered to nothingness last night.

**A/N: I was going to write a short introduction about them boys but, um, they didn't leave me alone! :P. Got carried away so hard, guys. **

**Better yet, the exciting part's coming up! (Can't wait to write it still!)**

**Thank you to all of you lovely readers, reviewers, **

**You all rock my life,**

**Loves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)  
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	3. Light Up This Whole Town

**Disclaimer: if such a universe where two Nicholas Hoults are around at the same time exists, sue me.**

Despite his calculations and analysis of the probability of the situation, Hank McCoy drove headfirst into the game in which the odds were set against him.

(And, if anything at all, Tony Stonem was the least predictable specimen he had come across, also reason #102 why the two avoided each other's ways as they did. Hank hated surprises and unplanned events that ruined his organized routines, which, as heaven would set it, seemed to be Tony's specialty.)

Plus, when had he ever messed around in his twin brother's love life?

His failures on the tests set by the subject of friends were the equivalent of a one-way ticket out of the social world. Girls he would rather save himself to not bother with. He remembered adjusting his glasses while balancing books on his knee, next to his locker. A giggle heard within earshot, he looked up from How Fiction Works to lock eyes with a sweet-faced blonde. Her green eyes, tinged with gray, seemed to smile at him. He racked his brain in that short second to find a nice comeback to say to her. This was his chance. And while she wasn't looking right at him, she was standing there, near him. This close.

_Now, what was her name?_

_God, that short skirt looked right on her. Those gorgeous, long legs…_

But he was still at a loss of what to call her. He barely managed to return a smile when shyness (because the last time he had ever properly held a conversation with a girl—which lasted a good two minutes—was back in elementary school) tripped his awkward nerves, and he fumbled with his books, causing them to fall into a disordered array on the floor.

The girl was about to lean down and help him (he noticed) pick up the books when two girls came, their arms around the girl next to him. An alarm went off in his head then, and he realized the blonde was Raven Darkholme, the most popular girl in school (standing next to him! Him, the geeky scientist!), and the other two her loyal followers (as it crossed his attention in most teen, chick-flicks that he once watched in order to 'analyze the female mind,' three was something of a number determining members of a girls' group) Angel Salvadore and Emma Frost.

Angel and Emma carefully led their group leader away from him, probably asking her as they whispered in her ears, what she was doing with one unsuspecting Hank McCoy, but Raven half-turned and gave him a little wave.

By the time he recovered enough to wave back, the trio were lost in the throngs of high schoolers.

What she was doing next to his locker and why she had the sweetness to care (waving after him, come on!) were the problems he couldn't conduct experiments to find solutions to.

And that was the closest encounter he had with the opposite gender since high school came into his life.

Or, in other words, before Tony waltzed along.

He had had to deal with awkward morning afters. Girls, ginger hair tousled, pieces of macaroni (He had no idea which kind of parties Tony attended) weaved in blonde strands, dressed in their underwear, pushing themselves up from the pillow on their living room couch, an unconscious Tony, wearing just his jeans, sprawled beneath them.

_Where am I?_ they would ask, images of last night's drunken shenanigans blurring in their eyes, as they tried to smooth their hair.

He would smile at them but offer them no answers (there's another one, his head would say, before he could stop himself) and help them up before slapping Tony lightly on his cheeks. _Wake up, Tone,_ he would say, _It's morning now_.

And Tony's eyelids would flicker open, a faint, delirious smile on his face, as his arm snake around the girl on top of him and pull her into a long kiss (It didn't take long before voyeurism turned into one of his pet-hates). They would have continued, if he didn't alert them to his (obvious) presence there and tell them to get ready for Mom's entrance.

Tony partied every Saturday night. Mom had customers come in to look at her curtain designs every Sunday morning. Fate apparently hated his guts.

The couple would get up from the couch, equally dizzy, and staggered over to Tony's room to 'prepare themselves,' (Tony always told the girl in question that.). He would sigh (something stopped them from making it to the bedroom during the night every single time) and clean up the space before the clock strike eight. When he heard the sound of the door slamming shut, he would yell after them to 'keep it down.' There was one time he forgot to, and now he couldn't shake the scathing memory away.

That was the minimum of the attachments that came along with the Tony package. There were unimaginable worst case scenarios (that he thought he would only had to plan for attack strategies) including the one in which a too-drunk girl with short black hair mistook him for Tony coming out of his bedroom—for he wasn't wearing his glasses at the time—and slapped him (the real Tony came out following that. He always had the perfect timing. Hank had caressed his burning cheek, shot Tony a warning glare, and went on his way.) He couldn't count the times he was watching National Geographic on TV and Tony with his girl (the new girl of the week) stumbled into the living room, not bothering to close to the door behind them since their hands were busy working each other's clothes as their lips were occupied in kisses. Though both of them would manage to move to some other place, Hank would close his eyes and reopen them. Having those kind of noises as distractions once or twice was fine, but countless times were testing his patience a little too much.

After a while, he chose to neglect the name of the girls, instead calling them as they were, "Tony's lady," which seemed to please some of them and caused confusion in others. He didn't care. He was just the third person spectator, an unfortunate, forced eavesdropper and voyeur on NC-17 love scenes staged in his house's areas that he never asked to watch.

The glimpses into Tony's fragmented love life (or was it just a string of one-night stands?) proved too complicated for him, Tony himself too tricky to decipher.

He promised himself he would stay on the peaceful sidelines and tried to get along with it until university.

Yet this particular morning (it could have been a normal morning), about a week after 'the incident,' when Tony could have easily refused to answer or change the topic (another talent of his), Hank went with his practiced question.

"Are you dating Alex Summers?"

Tony looked up from his bowl, his cheeks comically puffed out as he munched on his cereal. A playful smirk crossed his face. "Come again?"

Hank put his spoon down on the table. "I asked if you were dating one Alex Summers," he repeated, trying his best to sound casual. (It was easier with a blood relative around.)

Because he didn't care about this. Not one bit.

Tony grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I guess," he said, "Alex's great. Great talker, great kisser, great fu—"

Hank put up a hand, "That's enough," face turning several shades of red, "I get the idea."

His twin brother shrugged, nonchalant. "I thought you wanted to talk about him."

That dart hit him in the chest. Hank stammered, "Uh…well, yeah."

"Why?" At this point Tony had gotten up, put his bowl in the sink, and was leaning against the counter, scanning the look on Hank's face. The scientist just happened to be one of those honest, readable people whose view of life was a straight road. "You've never been interested."

Hank focused his attention on the colorful Fruit Loops floating on the milk. "He's…my best friend." It was full ten seconds before the sentence came out of his lips in its entirety.

Tony nodded. "And?"

Those irritating short questions were asking too much of him. The brunette glanced at Tony. "God, don't you get it?" After one sentence was out, the other followed, like a wild stream rushing out of a broken dam. "I thought you were…you know, into girls."

"Aren't you yourself?" the playboy asked, his voice teasing, as he sat down on his chair opposite Hank, who remained silent. "I'm just doing what you do, experimenting," he said, his fingers drumming on the table, "Except with people."

Hank stared at him. "What?"

Tony tilted his head. "I wanted to try something new."

He backed away from his brother, about to get up from his chair. "Alex is not a hobby, Tony. You're not taking up canoeing." Why that sport crossed his mind he didn't know. It seemed out of place enough for this discussion that wasn't going anywhere.

A corner of Tony's lips curled up. "I've been canoeing," he said.

Hank sighed. He knew Tony was going to take his path. He didn't actually wanted to deal with it. "What about Emma, or isn't she your current girlfriend?"

A sudden pointed look appeared on Tony's face, his eyes, dripping with hostility, aimed at Hank's like daggers to his heart. "She's been canoeing," he replied, quickly. It seemed to Hank Tony couldn't care less if the girl was handicapped.

Hank calmed his frights (as to think of what Tony would do next was beyond him) and met Tony's eyes, which by then had returned to normal, an ocean after a night of violent storms.

"_Tony_," he uttered, pleading and implying the seriousness with which he regarded the situation and which he suspected his brother didn't.

A smile. "Come on, it's just fun, don't be a killjoy!" he said, slapping Hank on the shoulder.

Hank almost breathed a sigh of relief, as he mumbled under his breath, "It's my friend…"

"As a matter of fact," Tony said, getting up once more and walking out of the room, his volume loud enough so that Hank could hear him as he was walking, "Your birthday's coming up soon, so I thought I'd get you a present."

Typical Tony. Changing the topic when the other person involved was caught unaware.

He returned back with a small, gift-wrapped box in his hands. He handed the box to Hank, who was still seated in his chair. "Open it."

The scientist unwrapped the box as a grin broke out on his face, chuckles escaping his lips. "What is this, I thought—"

His sentence was cut short when he realized what the box's content was. "Contact lenses? Come on, last year's Playboy could have been—"

But Tony grabbed the box from him and held it up before his eyes. "You know how subatomic particles don't obey physical la—"

Hank's laughs interrupted Tony's speech. "Stop it with the scientific get-up, Tone," he said, "We all know who's God here. There's no chance, no chaos, no coincidence. You're playing God," he grinned up at the twin, "You're setting the rules. It's not unpredictable. You're deciding what's going happen. The fun is you. And you know how Einstein was said to have…"

"—I know, I know, Hank, God does not play dice," Tony continued, annoyed, throwing the box from one hand to the other, "How many times have you tried that comeback on me?"

Hank whistled. "How many times have you tried that speech on me? Probably wowed your friends. Too bad I know better."

"Yeah," the playboy said, "Anyway, the point of this," he placed the box on the table, close to Hank's reach, "Is so you could have a little fun."

Hank ran a hand through his hair. "You're my twin brother, Tony," he responded, "But honest to God, I have no idea what you're on about most of the time."

Tony's smile told Hank he was falling into a trap he did not sign up for. "Go out with Alex," he said, "for one night. Be me. Isn't that what you want?"

Hank got up from the table. To say surprise was on his face would have been an understatement.

"Well," Tony moved so that he was standing opposite Hank, "You asked me the question yourself."

Hank bit his lip. "You're out of your mind."

Tony's mouth shaped into an indifferent 'O,' as he put in the box in Hank's hand, "Oh, he wouldn't know. When was the last time you went out with him, seventh grade?" Tony had tuned his voice to that chilling, seductive persuasion tone.

Hank gripped the box in his hand. "He's your boyfriend."

"Whom you love," Tony continued, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in the situation, "Think of it as my gift to you."

He started walking out of the room, turning back to say, "And I'll need to borrow some of your clothes, brother."

**A/N: Ahhh...meself got carried away again! **

**Alex will definitely make an appearance next chapter :D**

**Thank you to everyone of you, my precious **

**Loves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**


	4. All This Time

**Disclaimer: if this is happening in my head, why on earth is it not real? (HP, yep)**

"So this is it."

His eyes met Alex's. The blonde managed a shaky smile, his eyes betraying the calm exterior. Well, what are the chances. The school's king heartbroken—perhaps only possible when Tony was manipulating pieces of the chess game himself. Alex shifted his weight on the steps leading to his house's back door. Hank fumbled with his T-shirt's hem nervously. Night was falling upon them, and he thought he'd better think up some excuses to retire to his world of miserable solitude.

But those words. This is it, and he wished this wasn't the end. The definite defining factor of their relationship. The farthest. The destination of a journey he had barely started, since that day when the track pulled up in front of his house.

So he returned Alex's smile. "This is it," he repeated softly, "For tonight, I guess."

He brushed invisible specks of dust off his T-shirt. There was an audible hum in Alex's throat, formation of words that Hank would never hear.

A short "thanks," from Alex and Hank was sure heat rushed up to his cheeks despite the cold of the night.

_Damn it, McCoy. Exert some self-control._

"N-no problem" he replied, "Well, I mean, our houses are right next to each other and I was—"

Alex's short, cheerful laugh surprised him. "Really, Spock," (Hank full-on blushed at the nickname this time), "I meant, you know, for what you did tonight."

Hank's lips went dry. His face burned. "Oh," was all he could say.

Alex smiled again, as he reached a hand over to pat Hank's shoulder. "You're the best," he said, turning on his heel to leave, "Good night."

Hank found it useless to resist beaming back at those words. He nodded. "'Night, Alex."

Alex's hand was on the doorknob when his words lingered on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath.

"Alex…I…"

The blonde looked back at him, a curious expression crossed his face. "Yes?"

"I…"… _Say it. Say _it.

_Why must it be so difficult?_

_After what happened these past couple of days, I don't think I have much of a heart to say this to him._

_But…._

* * *

><p><em>Oh.<em>

_Oh my God._

So that's what he's been missing. He feasted his eyes on a half-naked Alex, who was leaning casually against the window frame, facing him.

He had to slap himself on the chin to shut his gaping mouth up.

_Tony would never lose his head like this. Focus._

He sat still on Alex's bed, his hands hung rigid to his side like some superfluous appendage.

Awkward.

But there was no reason to be. He's Tony Stonem, in physical and behavioral (almost) appearances now, and the Hank McCoy he usually was would not have scored himself a chance for an evening alone with his crush.

If his life indeed was mere chapters of a story, events and characters whom he met a combination of words flowing from a writer's pen, Hank wished he could have rewritten his first few hours in Tony Stonem's shoes.

His morning within the school grounds as its royal playboy did not go well.

A couple of 'cool' guys who took it upon themselves to taunt him on a daily basis passed him by, slapping him on the back. Blush colored girls' faces as they coyly pretended to avoid his eyes, hugging their folders to their chests.

A new pair of contact lenses, a change of outfit, and he was the school's new reality show.

Then there was the challenge of navigating through the hallways, following Tony's footsteps through the use of his schedule. Hank had planned his routes and calculated the estimated time for each of them and thought himself prepared. What he fail to arm himself with was the knowledge of Tony's friends—Chris, Maxxie, Anwar, the lot. He knew their names, but was quite at a loss as how to respond to their greetings. The fact that he'd never smoked a joint in his life was a minor problem. His keeping up to the believability of his role was the challenge.

_Christ, Tony. How can it be possible that I hate you more than I already do? Why did I agree to this? _

…_._

_Calm down. It's only for a day. A Day. And at the end of all this, I could still go back to take care of my business, leave Tony to take care of his and of course there's the prospects of…_

"Tony!" a familiar voice called his name across the hall. Hank turned around, searching for a face, only to be enveloped in a loose hug. He looked down and sighted blonde hair.

Alex.

_Oh, God. When was the last time they hugged each other like this? It felt right. His arms. _

But his body was tense, unused to the arms around him. The embrace lasted seconds, but Hank felt time to have stretched to minutes.

Alex slowly released Hank from his grip, sensing Hank's rigidity. He glanced up at the taller boy and smiled. "Hey, what's the matter?"

_He's too nice for a jock who isn't dumb,_ thought Hank bitterly. _Too nice. What's he doing with a guy like Tony?_

"Tony?" Alex's voice again, a little worried at his blank face.

_Oh. Better get back._

He coughed. "Uh, nothing, nothing, Alex—" (Captain Kirk…) "—let's just get going."

The blonde nodded. "Yeah. Or I'll be late for class." He gave Hank a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. The scientist's body temperature shot up from its frozen state to an explosive boiling point. He was pretty sure he heard someone whistle, "Get a room!" His mouth hung open a little like an idiot, and he managed to resume Tony's signature sneer just in time when Alex turned back and motioned him to follow. "Come on, isn't my French class on the way to your Psych?"

_(Alex's taking French? Alex _freaking_ Summers is studying the language of love? Alex is practicing how to fluently pronouce the sexy sounds of those words?)_

He blinked, an uncharacteristically hesitant "Okay," uttered, and rushed to follow Alex. The blonde was standing there, waiting for him.

_Where the fuck is Alex's French class? Wherethefuckis—_

But then Alex's fingers became entwined in his, and his brain lost its ability to compute.

Tony indirectly forced him into his poorly conjured plan by rising up earlier than he did (For the first time he regretted having such an organized lifestyle, as compared to Tony's fuck-it-this-is-me, erratic schedule), and calling him on his (Really. The guy had the nerve to also switch up their cell phones "just to make it more realistic," as he later put it) cell to inform a groggy Hank that he's already showed up at school as him.

No chance for him to show up as a double Hank. Their school was small enough that if Tony made a display of himself in the Hank disguise in the right places, it was settled.

Hank groaned and staggered over to Tony's room. His outfit for the day was laid out on the neatly made bed (neatfreak!), on top of the clothes a note written in Tony's handwriting.

_**Hey.**_

_**Wear this. And have fun, Tony.**_

_**Cheers, Your brother.**_

Tony's messenger bag lay on the floor, inches from the bed. Hank knew his queue.

"Fun" was the word he came least close to the minute he stepped into his Honors English class. Tony, glasses galore (he could, despite Hank's scorn for him, rock the nerd look), held up a hand and shyly waved at him. He adjusted Tony's messenger bag on his shoulder and pretended to ignore the greeting from 'himself.'

Just as well.

It was eerily bizarre. When it came the time to, they could probably stage a double act, twin-brothers show. He had unintentionally did a Tony action because of his annoyance for Tony's perfect imitation of a Hank (aka his) action.

Maybe Tony really was his Dark Side of a doppelganger.

He sat himself down on the chair, nowhere close to 'Hank,' and prepared for the lesson. At least it was a schoolday, he thought, as he took out a notebook and turned to the first blank page. A weekend and it would have been a disaster. He knew he'd lose it.

* * *

><p>But by the end of the day (excruciating seven hours later), Hank learned it needn't be a weekday to screw him up.<p>

He walked out of his last class, exhausted, when he was cornered by one Alex Summers. He was pushed up against one of the lockers, and Alex's lips pressed against his before he could utter an unnecessary protest.

The contact. The taste. And he felt his acting throughout the whole day was worth it. Alex's body against his. Hand in his hair.

He made a mental note to remember the sensation when Alex gently detached himself.

"Gotta go," he grinned, "Football practice."

Hank mumbled something that hopefully resembled a disjointed "yes," aloud. Alex's next sentence melted his thoughts.

"See you later, yeah?"

The blonde shot a playful punch at him and strode off.

_Oh God._

_He even had Tony's British accent down pat._ Hank unconsciously touched a finger to his lips. _How cute is that? The late-er?_

_Hell, McCoy, bloody hell. You're fucked._

* * *

><p>Another note awaited him on top of Tony's shirt drawers when he went into the room afterschool to change.<p>

_**Hello.**_

_**Going to Alex's?**_

_**If you're wondering, yes, that kiss by the lockers is our signal that his mum's off for the night and I can come over. Don't have to explain what we do, do I?**_

Hank licked his lips. Signals. How could Tony's dating routines be more complicated than it already was?

He blushed at the incoming mental images.

_** Don't change. I never do.**_

_Finally he got to the point._

_**He'll be there roughly at seven. Give him some time to cool down and he's all yours. **_

_Filthy bastard of a brother, though._

_**Don't screw it up. This is your chance to get a little more experienced, mate.**_

_** Tony.**_

_**PS. Oh, and get back here. Don't stay over. **_

Hank gave the note a quick read-through once more before tearing the paper to pieces.

_No, Tony, I'm not taking any chances._

Which explained his presence in the blonde's bedroom at an odd hour of the night as opposed to his usual, more comfortable station by his own bedroom window.

"Tony."

Hank gave a small, startled jump. Alex raised an eyebrow, approaching Hank on the bed. His features softened as he stroked Hank's hair. "Seriously, you ok today?"

_I'm not myself._ Hank wanted to blurt out. _And not just in the figurative sense._ _Plus having my best friend and crush who is half-naked and hot facing me within touching distance in his own bedroom where I haven't entered in years is working my heart overtime to regulate its beats._

"No," he said softly, taking Alex's hand in his, "I'm fine."

_What the hell._ Since he was in the Tony disguise, his actions couldn't possibly come back to haunt him. And Alex was rightfully his boyfriend. Now. Even just for one night.

He leaned in and sought for the lips he missed. Alex responded with an enthusiasm no less than his, arms around him as they tumbled back onto the bed.

Alex laughed. He managed a smile. Inside he was burning. He stared down at the blonde beneath him. "I love you," a breathless whisper, but a confession freed at last.

Alex pulled him close, lips next to his ears. "Love you too, Tony."

The word stabbed him right in the heart. Tony. So that's the way it's going to be. Just Tony. And never him. Never Hank. He gulped back his retorts and ran his thoughts desperately to kill the silence.

_A night. Make it count._

* * *

><p>The last sound he wanted to hear in the morning was the vibration of his cell.<p>

Hank raised his head from the soft pillow (he's back in his sanctuary now, thank God), and blindly grabbed the silver object on the nightstand next to his bed within his arm's reach.

He forced his eyes open, tapped on the button, and read:

_**Had fun last night,**_

_**See you at school today,**_

_**-'Chelle**_

The name. He sprang from his bed and pushed his closet doors open, hastily slipping on his clothes.

The cell dropped onto the floor.

_He was going to kill Tony._

Strapped his watch on his arm. Checked the time. All right. The only wrong was the plot-line of his life.

_Just who the fuck was 'Chelle?_

* * *

><p>He was sitting on the bench in the school's courtyard, waiting for Tony. He had his glasses back on now, a little more empowered in his own clothes, his second skin. Suddenly traces of his remaining confidence shattered when a brunette's curvy ass landed on his lap. Her arms snaked around his neck.<p>

Blood shot up his face.

Her mischievous green eyes cast down at his. She pursed her lips as she said sweetly, voice coated in a thick British accent, "Hi there, Tony."

_Oh fuck. Here comes the consequences. He should have trusted himself about Tony. He was right._

It wasn't a deal without Tony having benefited from it one way or the other.

His hands hung limp by his sides, sight diverted to the school's entrance. "Um…sorry…do I know you?"

The girl dropped her arms, a hand tilting his face to look up at her, "Tony!" she retorted, hurt, "Do I have to remind you what we did last night or were you simply to drunk to care?"

_Last night. Could this possibly be…_

She brushed her curly brunette locks back over her shoulder to reveal a mark on her neck.

(supposedly caused by his teeth)

_Damn. _Tony.

While he was busy wrestling against his thoughts, the brunette had reached her hand down, dangerously close to a certain area of his trousers.

_Shit._ He swatted her hand away and stammered, "Wh—what are you doing?"

Her lips took the liberty of mapping his neck with each word. "Trying. To. Remind. You."

His life had the perfect timing. Tony and Alex, hand in hand, happened to walk by. Alex waved at him cheerfully, while Tony gave him a thumbs-up and a wink. They're fine and in love and he's here all flustered, longing for Alex to instead take this girl's place.

Never had he felt a more conflicted mix of desire, envy, and hatred. Everything was a badly jumbled ball of mess that he couldn't bother to sort. The girl still had her face buried in the crook of his neck. Saved. From a revelation and shock of her life, that one.

He pushed her off, careful to be gentle as he could. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone sincere, "I'm not Tony."

She slid off him and straightened her short skirt, shooting him a glare. "Wanker."

He watch her storm off, thinking..._Wait a minute. Wanker. Obviously British._

_Tony._

* * *

><p>He finally crossed paths with said suspect and criminal on his way to English. For once, he was able to appreciate the fact that they were in the same class.<p>

He grabbed Tony and dragged him over to a deserted hallway.

"Whoa, whoa," Tony held up his hands, "Calm down, Hank. What're you getting so worked up for?"

"You know what, Tony," he said, loosening his grip on the twin brother.

Tony shrugged, foot kicking a stray piece of paper on the floor. "What, tell me, then?"

He almost sighed, but resorted to grabbing Tony's shirt collar and pushing him against the lockers instead.

"Who's the girl?"

He wanted to praise Tony for his shamelessly innocent expression. The Brit rolled his eyes and pretended to think, "Your girlfriend?"

Hank let go of Tony, exasperated, "_Tone_."

The playboy chucked, "Michelle. Old girlfriend from Bristol. Said she was going to come 'round—"

"—and you swapped lives with me for one night so you could meet her and still date Alex?" the words came through gritted teeth.

Tony clapped once, twice. "Bravo," he grinned. "I call it a win-win situation. I gave you a birthday present and then a girlfriend, you should be on top of the world," he slapped Hank on the back. "Speaking of which, last night, were you on to—"

"Tony!" Hank said sharply, a fist hitting one of the lockers, "God. It's you, isn't it? All about you. Selfish bastard. Your universe and shit. Fix this."

Tony pushed Hank away from him. "Girls aren't exactly robots, this is going to take time."

Hank shook his head. "Yeah, like the way you've treated them told me."

Tony stared at him for a moment, before spinning on his heels. "Whatever, see you, huh, Hank?"

Hank shouted after him. "Wanker!" The curse word echoed off the walls.

Tony stopped short, his back to Hank, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

_Where did the little nerd learn that word from?_

* * *

><p>"You all right?"<p>

Strange. It was him checking on Alex this time. They were out for a walk around the neighborhood. Alex had showed up at his door (miracle) and asked if he 'wanted to take a stroll outside" (leave it to the prom prince for his posh language). Hank guessed Tony didn't come 'round, but he knew better than to ask.

"No," Alex uttered, his eyes downcast.

Hank bent over to check on the blonde and jostled him when he discovered that Alex was trying hard as he could to hold back laughter. "I'm never better," he grinned.

The scientist laughed along with him.

They were walking along the town's main streets. Hank had on his plan, stay-at-home outfit—sweatpants and his crappy white T-shirt Alex used to remind him to transform into a cleaning cloth. Alex wore a similar white T-shirt and his worn out jeans that Hank used to insist he donate to charity already. Alex simply replied, "But it feels good, relaxed. Like I have no care in the world."

And maybe he did feel that way at the present, judging from the carefree expression on his face. Alex chuckled, "Remind me why haven't we done this again?"

Hank cocked an eye at him. "Since you've become the Varsity football team captain and the dream date of half the girls in our school?" he slashed the air with his hand, miming the action of a sword. "You're booked solid every weekend. And poor Hank is trapped at his desk, cursed to compose lame poetry forevermore."

Alex elbowed him. "Oh, enough already with the self-pity! I, for one, don't pity you."

"Really," Hank's face hovered before Alex's, suppressing his smile, "Not one bit?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"But you think we should definitely do this again?"

"Hell yes."

They shared a long laugh, shoulders heaving. Neither had enjoyed such a refreshing break from their usual, customary masks put on for social display.

"God, I'm sorry, okay?" Alex sighed. "Things got mixed up, tangled, I was…just swept in with the crowd."

Hank shrugged. "Right, right," he muttered, "I understand." And though he pretended seriousness, he actually did.

But he couldn't resist thinking this could be the way it ought to be. Just him and Alex. Friends, best friends who understood each other's humor, knew of each other's dreams and favorite songs. Maybe he was worth the place where he thought Alex belonged.

Just Maybe.

* * *

><p>It was like watching a tragic movie scene in which the sounds were blocked out.<p>

All he remembered were the sounds of fists hitting flesh, Tony's and Alex's twisted faces, and having to hold Alex back until he calmed down enough to walk home with him.

"It's over," he said, "IT'S OVER!" The blonde threw his hands up at his yell, somewhat liberated from an invisible bond.

"What are you talking about?" Hank asked, hand squeezing Alex's shoulder. "It's been weeks."

Alex's lips curved into a grim frown. "You don't know Tony," and when Hank was about to open his mouth to protest, "I meant Tony as a boyfriend."

The street lamps highlighted the shadowy figure they walked past to be a tangled mess of Tony and Michelle.

Alex had turned Tony around then, demanding for an explanation. "Tony, _what is this?_"

The playboy whispered something to his old girlfriend containing the word, "old friend," and she entered a nearby bar.

That was when it started and ended.

* * *

><p>Alex stood in front of him, and this time the words evaporated from his tongue.<p>

"Yes?" he repeated, puzzled.

Hank kicked himself for wasting Alex's time. He shouldn't be doing this right now.

"Alex…I…"

Lights went on inside the Summers household. A loud voice called out, "Alexander! Is that you? Get in here! Why do you have to be home so late? Do you hear me?"

Alex visibly cringed at the mention of his full name. His mother had the mercy not to spare him the embarrassment. Hank decided the moment was ruined.

The blonde gestured towards the house. "You know, moms, sorry," he rolled his eyes, "''Night again."

And he stepped into the house.

Hank was left standing in front of the door. The three words he unintentionally omitted from the conversation stood out in his mind.

_I love you._

If only he could say that—voice out his thoughts the way he wanted. Cease this silly nonsense, this nonexistent rift between best friends.

_I love you. Because you belong with me._

**A/N: The epitome of cliches, this story is.**

**But I love everything too much, and thanks to for reviving it back.**

**As always, I cannot thank each and everyone of you enough,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**_  
><em>


	5. Just Maybe

**Disclaimer: I'm working under the supervision of imaginary characters in my head. Yep, definitely a paid job.**

The glow of the lights was blinding.

He stepped into the ballroom, searching the crowd for a certain blonde. His was a small, insignificant entrance. Those young men and women, transformed into princes and princesses for the night, did not part ways for his gangly form or detach themselves from their partners to spare their time in this event, the apex of their high school life, to scrutinize him or speculate his identity.

Glasses became his aid to view the world that surrounded him once more, and he wouldn't say he had gotten all dressed up especially for this occasion. A haircut worth the bargain, a rented tux (no corsage needed, good), and the little makeup Tony insisted he had.

He looked fine, he thought. Presentable. Contact lenses, reminder of the mishap caused by the Tony incident, discarded.

He was never much of a party-goer. An introvert, a direct result of his genius, Hank rarely made an appearance at these kinds of social gathering. One would win one's bet on a random day to declare he would join the swarm of dancing teenagers, his fellow peers, on prom night.

He surprised even himself. He was sitting at his desk, finishing some draft of a project proposal not due until a month later (perfectionist that he was), head bent down, eyes reading and rereading the clarity of his words when lights went on in the bedroom next door.

Alex was already in his tux, sans the jacket. The blonde smiled at him and sat down on the bed. A hand snatched up his notepad, scribbled in some words, and turned it over to face Hank.

The scientist chuckled, cheeks slightly pink, at the sight of Alex's "You going tonight?"

He got out his own notepad.

Alex frowned after reading Hank's "No, working."

He gestured to the pile of work on his desk. The blonde shrugged.

They stared at each other through the windows, eyes communicating their unspoken messages. Hank was the first to break eye contact to resume his work. He saw from the corner of his eye Alex fumbling with his notepad and raised his head in time to read the words which released a flock of butterflies in his stomach.

He stopped himself just when he was about to take off his glasses and polish them.

He pushed the glasses back on the bridge of his nose and took an ugly second longer to visualize the words on his grounds of reality.

Because in his dreams there wouldn't be a nicely dressed Alex asking him if he would go to the prom, thinking of him, and leaving him with some words along the lines of…

_Wish You Were._

Three words. A faint wistfulness, an open-ended proposal. A subtle plea concealing hints of feelings that could perhaps reciprocate his. Even their sounds. The "W" seemed to beckon him, invite him in. And the You in the middle, singling him out, under the sentence's direct, lone spotlight.

Most of all, the tense. He hated to play the role of a language analyst (but hey, he did carry the course load of an Honors English class, and while he wasn't the class's Romeo—a title bestowed upon Tony—he had had enough knowledge to get by), but if he read the words right, the odds looked to be in his favor. The time boundary of the three words informed him fulfillment of the proposal was still a possibility. There was time. And better yet, Alex would have liked it if he did. If he were going.

Maybe as a friend.

_Yeah, and that's thought that defines the entire static concept of a relationship you have here. Agreeing with yourself, letting conscience and good old-fashioned notions about best friends getting in the way of yourself. _

I love you just the way you are, honestly, self.

_Now then. Write something. _

Let words appear, let ink work its magic. Let the god-awful secret you wanted to hide from him solidify and take its permanent place on paper. Let him know.

_You won't have to say it, but he'll understand all the same. And it will be easier from there. Trust me._

Trust?

He tightened his grip on the pen.

Must I?

_Your words. Your choice. Leave the stuff of last night to dreams' lost hopes. Fine. And choose not to realize chances are in your hands, not to acknowledge that you—yes, you—can transform this from a possibility—a scene, a script in your head—to reality, without Tony's help. _

_You're right. He's wrong. He's just a loose bolt fallen into the cracks of your crumbling machine. _

_You live—you lead—separate lives, which happened to be entwined. _

_And whatever. Let it go. Do yourself a favor. You're not Tony's errand boy. You're in control of this. Of your own life. God knows how many times you've worked on its storyboards in your head, how many times you've drafted, drawn, and rearranged their frames and dialogues in your head just the first second when you wake up, when your head's a little dizzy, drowned in itself, twirling in strings of little nonsensical words and you can't grasp that you're just going to go through another one of those days. _

Tonight was not in a 'those,' category. The break-up was days ago. Tony recovered, naturally. Alex…might have. He didn't know.

_Just. Cut it. Cut it out. Okay? _

_Fuck it and let live. Write. _

He winced at the noise the pen made as it danced on the paper. Meaningless squiggly lines transcribed his disturbed subconscious's rhythm on the notepad's white blankness. _And that's all you'll ever get. All you'll ever be. Squiggly lines. On a supposedly clean piece of presentation. Insecure._

_Go on._

The pen scratched out an "I," where he was imprisoned. Trapped. He was onto his 'l,' and the sounds of plastic rustling against fabric, switches being turned off, and steps of pristine leather shoes on the hardwood floor slowly paled from his hearing range.

He looked up.

Alex was gone.

* * *

><p>He saw Tony close in on Alex, in the middle of the dance floor. A show put on in front of these people. The playboy never did learn his lessons.<p>

Tony looked his best, of course, hair slicked back like that. One quick glance could steal a girl's heart and rob her breaths, but he had a doll on his arm tonight. Female company, proud victim of other girls' verbal assaults. Michelle had her head high, green eyes matching the color of her strapless evening gown glittering. She knew she was the queen. She knew she should be the queen. And she indeed was.

The Brit had parted ways with his beau when he sighted Alex. Hank watched from behind a small crowd (there's one of the perks to being absurdly tall). Tony was whispering into Alex's ear, his arms around him. The blonde shrugged him away, face crunched. He stepped off, away from the onlookers, towards the hotel's garden outside.

Hank fiddled with his bowtie.

He distinctly heard a loud slap (a corner of his eye informed him Tony was the likely recipient), but his subconscious had tuned out the dance's obnoxious music and discordant conversations, jeers, cheers, and cries. There went his last ties to normalcy and the social world.

The lights leading to the gardens lit up and seemed send him a wink of approval.

* * *

><p>Alex was examining one of the glowing bulbs hidden in the bushes with a curious attention.<p>

Hank slowed down his steps. Trees surrounded this secluded getaway from reality. It was a small area, a modest garden, nothing magical like in the movies when the leading actor takes his lady out for a series corny true or false questions, tricks of a heart starting to play out its game. His heart just wanted to hide itself in the shades. Good thing.

If Alex was aware of his presence, he did not let it show. Hank touched the bush close to Alex's lingering hand. The leaves snapped in the still air. The blonde turned his head.

"Hi," said the scientist. The volume was a mere scratch of sound upon the peaceful night, and he feared it was too breathless, too incomprehensible to interpret.

Alex nodded, a soft "Hi," returned to him as he sat down on the lone park bench in the middle of the garden.

Hank settled beside Alex, still teetering on his choice of words.

His eyes widened a little at the smile unfolding on Alex's face. "It was you, that night, wasn't it?"

The guessing, half-true, half-dare note in his voice mirrored Hank's uncertainty of his place in the situation. He blushed. "H—how do you know?"

The smile stayed with Alex as he leaned back, his head resting on the bench, hands on his knee. "You've probably never kissed many lips but," he shook his head, "They don't feel the same. You're different from him." He flicked a leave off Hank's shoulder. "You may have faked it, but you're nothing he is."

Hank sucked on his lips, hands at either side of him on the bench. Now there was the part of the play of being typed up before his eyes. The part he did not practice for. His role wasn't this.

Alex met his eyes. "Which is what I like about you."

"I love you."

And the way he said them. The words. Spontaneous, unpredicted. Unprepared. Words shot out, bullet from a furious gun. Cannons set off before orders.

He looked away, his hands mingling with the air out of his control. He tried to breathe.

A finger grazed his chin. "What did you say?"

"I—I love you," he stumbled in his words this time, close to the maze's exit but held back by some invisible opponent.

His ears picked up the light sounds of creased paper being unfolded and smoothed, and he turned back.

Alex was holding a familiar notepad in front of him. He blinked at the words written in blue ink across the paper.

_I Love You._

"You serious?" he said. Alex laughed, his hand gripping the paper, his lips on Hank's.

A whisper to his lips. "If you are."

A toss of the paper to the ground, and the silly thoughts almost left Hank's mind. This was it.

Not a movie ending romance, not his happy ending.

Because after this. There's more of that slice of reality. Misery, heartaches, unnecessary jealousy, banters, wordplay, and conversations misunderstood. Cells forgotten and discovered. Messages and missed calls. Arguments and make-outs on the couch, cuddles by the floor in front of the TV.

He didn't know what they would face. He wanted to make it work. Because it wasn't meant to be just this. The physical intimacy.

Alex was his best friend.

What was now, then, he could treasure. What was to come, futile to anticipate or fear, was out of his hands.

He knew they were together now. It might not last. Hopefully it could.

But he knew he would try.

**A/N: And there it is :D**

**Well, this has been fun to write, a struggle to connect the pieces of the story together, but I have to finish this, my other baby.**

**Thank you to all of you, my dears, wouldn't have been able to do this without you,**

**Love,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**University is calling my name. Will be another looong hiatus...for academic reasons X).**

**PS. Look out for the follow up chapter (Bonus): _Tidbits in The Elements of a Crossover_ (this being a triple crossover in itself haha)  
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	6. Tidbits in Elements of a Crossover

**Disclaimer: What? You still need a disclaimer when this chapter speaks for itself? Fine. I'll give you one word: Crossover.**_**  
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_**Tidbits in the Elements of a Crossover**_

(Switch: a Trivia)

aka _The interesting tidbits on the details that are interesting because they're tidbits._

Key

**_T (Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" Video element)_**

**_S (Skins UK, Gen 1, Seasons 1-2 element)_**

**_X (X-Men: First Class element)_**

**_M (Miscellaneous, maybe unrelated, wanted to note it anyway)_**

**The Chapter Names** (T): all taken from phrases in her song (yes, I may have listened to it a couple of times when writing. A fabulous guilty pleasure.)

Chapter 1: Typical Tuesday Night ("You're on the phone/It's a typical Tuesday night." Yes, the day was set on purpose haha, and of course they started out the music video at night.)

Chapter 2: Dreaming ("Dreaming about the day/When you wake up and find that what you're looking for has been here the whole time…" The chapter's Hank's reminiscing about the past, so sort of like a 'dream' state about the first times he met Alex and Tony.)

Chapter 3: Light Up This Whole Town ("You've got a smile that could light up this whole town…") It was going to be Light Up (This Whole Town), but FF . net won't let me use parentheses in chapter names. So there it was. The chapter's about Tony's plan, the build up to the climax. So yes, Light up!)

Chapter 4: All This Time ("Standing by/And Waiting at your back door/All this Time/How could you not know?" My favorite chapter name of all. Sort of has a nice ring to it. When everything happens.)

Chapter 5: Just Maybe ("Have you ever thought just maybe…" Towards the ending. All happy endings are unfinished stories.)

**Details**:

_Chapter 1: _

A bird flew at my window (M): Total misc. I was stuck on a writer's block until my friend offered a random sentence. Thanks to him, the whole story was born. And Chapter 3 of _Otherwise Known as Us_ (my other baby).

Blasting his stereo (S): First scene of Season 1, Episode "Tony." Tony blasting out his stereo on his dad on purpose for Effy to sneak in 3. Except in the series it was metal, I think, the music. Not rap.

Rap music (S): Whenever I listen to that song Chingy's _Right Thurr_ (yes, I did make it my business to find out the particular song he exercised to. Cough.), mental images galore.

Later (S): Tony's just like that. Isn't he. Predictable.

Half-sister (S): Indirect, rough reference to Effy. Her in the very first scene in season 1. Oh, Effy. I love you.

Debussy's Clair de Lune (T, M): Taylor Swift element in that he's "listening to the kind of music [she] doesn't like" as in the song. Hank in this story may not only listens to Classical, but probably not rap like Tony does. Misc element in personal interests (lol)—this is the one classical song that can calm me right down when I'm stressed. Works. Also, it's beautiful in its sad way.

The Whole Notepad Scenario (T): of course. Cutest thing ever. I think this is one of my favorite music videos, and that it deserved that award at the VMAs.

The Whole Status-quo Scenario (T, M): Cliches-ridden. Tried to straighten that bit out later on, but as with the music video, this triple crossover, this whole story was an absolute guilty pleasure to write. So.

_Chapter 2:_

Hank's back story (X, M): Completely fictional. The genius part, probably loosely on his X-Men character.

Star Trek (M): There's this one cute story on the LJ Kink Meme (I STALK IT LIKE A BOSS) about Alex actually being a secret nerd and using that to seduce Hank. Star Trek quotes included. PG, but fun.

Tony's back story (M): Again fictional. The raining scene was an indirect reference to a Nicholas Hoult movie (hahahah), The Weather Man starring Nicolas Cage (you have to be careful with the spelling of the names…). Nic Hoult starred as Nicolas Cage's son. Nic Cage's character's father passed away in the film. There was this one scene, quite dismal, rain at a funeral. So I thought of that and captured it here.

Mesmerizing Blue Eyes (M): Nicholas Hoult's eyes. Swoon.

Taking a piss (M): I don't know that many British slang and phrases. Was alerted to this one from About a Boy. Of course I did a Nicholas Hoult marathon. What obsession would be complete without one? :P

Perfect sneering (S): Michelle shot insults at Tony at a point towards the end of in Season 1. She told him to stop all of what he did, including "sneering."

When phones rang, it was never for him. Ditto the doorbells. (M): Direct Quote (this here be a disclaimer. I don't own this sentence) from Meg Cabot's _All American Girl_. The protagonist Sam, who was more of a street-wise artist than a nerd/genius, (and who saved the life of the President) was in a similar situation, living in the same house as her popular sister (not a twin sister).

The balance (S): Tony made it seem that way in the beginning of Season 1. He's doing quite well at school. Sid's parents, especially his dad, loved him and wanted Sid to be more like him. (Poor Sid, though.) In the second episode, "Cassie," he showed up at the cafeteria, where Sid's sitting and talking to Cassie, commenting on the fact that Sid hadn't even return home to shower after heavy partying, while he himself had done a variety of activities plus his English paper.

Tony's quote (S): Direct quote (here be disclaimer again) from Nicholas Hoult's Skins Character video.

_Chapter 3:_

_How Fiction Works_ (M): My favorite non-fiction book on fiction. An amazing read. Literature is love.

Raven Darkholme, Angel Salvadore, Emma Frost (X): Total cameos. Had to sneak them in there. Couldn't resist. Hee hee.

Pieces of Macaroni weaved in (S): The gang was sleeping at Michelle's house at the start of Season 1's episode "Cassie." Most of them have food in their hair. I still don't know what kind of party that was, either.

Customers come in to look at her curtain designs (S): Apparently Michelle's mother's job. Interior Designing, I guess. Adapted to be Tony's and Hank's mother's. One can still remember the chaos when Michelle's mother arrived in that same episode. Tony in his jeans too. (huh). Poor Hank. Left to clean up the mess.

Yell at them to keep it down (S): Sid had the worst luck the beginning of season 1, always walking in on Michelle and Tony getting it on, especially in the episode "Jal." He stood in the doorway, asked Jal if Tony was in, and heard those very specific sounds confirming that indeed he was (with Michelle).

Cheeks comically puffed out as he munched on his cereal (S): Season 1, episode "Tony," when he's having breakfast. Tony mentioned on his character page on the Skins E4 website (I'm a fact monster, rawr.) that breakfast's the source of his power (something along that line..). SO CUTE. The mental image of his cheeks puffed out when he's chewing. I know, I'm obsessed, don't mind me.

Canoeing (S): Season 1, episode "Maxxie and Anwar," (alternatively titled that episode with a hot (don't deny it) fan service makeout scene usable for all the Hank/Alex graphics on Tumblr), when the gang went to Russia for a field trip. Tony insisted on experimenting with Maxxie, who said he's "not a hobby." Current girlfriend mention—of course Michelle.

Tony's subatomic particles mini-speech (S): Season 1, episode "Sid," Tony told Sid, his best friend, to go after his girlfriend and then (lalala) got back together with her in front of him. Such a good, honest guy. He might have wowed Sid, but here I've got Hank battling it out hahah.

Hank's reply "God does not play dice" (M): Love this quote. Direct hit to Tony. Take that! Could be true or false, since what I've heard is that Einstein was said to have said it…

"Honest to God, I have no idea what you're on about most of the time" (S): (this here be another disclaimer) Direct quote of Sid's words to Tony when the latter came to rescue him at Cassie's Clinic, Season 1 finale "Everyone."

"He's your boyfriend."/"Think of it as my gift to you." (S): Direct quotes (except substitute the boyfriend with girlfriend) from Season 1's episode "Sid," see the plot-line of the episode above.

_Chapter 4:_

Back door (T): "Waiting at your backdoor" Not entirely incorporated, but Hank and Alex were that close.

Chris, Maxxie, Anwar (S): I love each and everyone of the Skins Gen 1 characters. Anwar's the funniest. Maxxie is adorable and such a fantastic dancer. Chris –no words. Don't make me cry.

French (M): Always thought the language sounds sexy. My friend studied it and thought otherwise.

Psych (S): Chris's love interest in Season 1 was his Psych teacher, Angie. The gang shared this class and another class taught by a male teacher. (We don't get to see them in other classes, though, as far as I remember…)

Messenger Bag (S): Tony always carried that around 3.

What's he doing with a guy like Tony? (T): "Whatchu you doing with a girl like that?"

Brunette reaching down/certain area of trousers (S): Michelle. I had to have her make an appearance. Grew to love her as I watched the series more. Reaching down below the waistband was in Season 1's episode "Tony,"(Is this waking up your chi, karate kid?) except Tony smiled at her.

Where it ought to be (T): "This is how it ought to be"

Worn Out Jeans/Walking the town's main streets (T): "Walking the streets with you and your worn out jeans" Self-explanatory, my love.

Understood each other's humor (T): "She doesn't get your humor/Like I do"

Dreams/Favorite songs (T): "And I know your favorite songs/And you tell me about your dreams"

Maybe he was worth the place where he thought Alex belonged (T): "Think I know where you belong/Think I know what's worth of me."

_Chapter 5:_

The Whole Notepad Scene (T): Adorable again, except I tweaked things around a bit :D

Wish You Were (M): Hur hur. Analysis are so fun.

Dreams' lost hopes (M): Was just reading a Neil Gaiman quote about how dreams, while not matter, contain lost hopes, puns, etc.

Fuck it and let live. Write. (M): I think this to myself. A lot. When writing.

Color of Michelle's gown (S): Green. I think it brings out her eyes. The couple looks so perfect together both dressed in green (Tony in a green suit) in Season 2's "Cassie."

Corny True or False questions game (M): A Cinderella Story, anyone? My favorite fairy tale-ish, chick flick growing up. Was still into Hilary Duff then. And don't worry, this isn't a bashing or anything. A fond nostalgic brush into that territory, more like :) Yes, and the gardens in that hotel in the homecoming dance scene were very fancy.

I Love You (T): Only had Alex presented his paper.

**A/N: And that is really it, ladies and gents. Thank you so much for all your invaluable support, for everything you do. Means so much to me.**

**I'm a trivia lover. Had been itching to write this since the first chapter, so :D.. There it is.**

**Love, and see you all again when opportunities present themselves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**


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